


Forbidden

by aimeejessica



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeejessica/pseuds/aimeejessica
Summary: Shelagh finds herself in possession of a little, green plant.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Patrick Turner, Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cannabis use follows. If that isn't your cup of tea, I'd suggest hitting the 'back button.
> 
> I'm also not here to start an argument over the recreational use of cannabis.

Shelagh had been busy attending to her morning routine of sorting the laundry. It was a task she preferred to undertake herself, knowing that if either Patrick or Timothy attempted it, sleeves wouldn't be unrolled, pockets wouldn't be checked and colours wouldn't be separated.  
  
She was finishing the last of the pocket checks when she had come across a little clear bag in one of the pockets of Timothy's slacks. In the bag was a green, plant like substance.  
  
Putting the laundry on, she held onto the bag, taking it with her to the sitting room. Opening the bag, a familiar earthen scent filled her senses. She, herself, had never tried the substance, but the pungent and familiar aroma gave away exactly what it was; pot.  
  
Timothy had been out that night at a Rolling Stones concert and she wondered if that was where he had picked up the illicit item. She was disappointed in the oldest child of the family; he had aspirations to follow his father's footsteps into the world of medicine, and she worried if this would hinder him if anyone were to find out.  
  
Sealing the bag and tucking it into her apron pocket, she decided she would speak to Patrick about this when he returned home from work. Together they could form a way to approach their son about his misdemeanour.  
  
As the day progressed, the more curious the petite woman grew. Her mind rapidly shifting between housework and the metaphorical weight in her apron. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a little curious about the herb.

Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall, making note of the time and quickly working out how much longer it would be until Patrick returned home. If he was running to schedule, which she doubted he would be, he should be making his way home in about an hour. Knowing him, he would more than likely still be a few hours away.  
  
Sighing, she called the surgery. Miss Higgin's familiar voice greeted her and she immediately asked for her husband.  
  
"Oh, Mrs. Turner!" She exclaimed when she recognised the accented voice. "I'm afraid he's just finished for the day, no doubt on his way home to you as we speak,"  
  
Shelagh was taken aback; never did he finish _early._ "Thank you," she replied, hanging the telephone on the receiver to end the call.  
  
Nerves formed in her stomach; Patrick having already left the surgery, should be returning home in less than twenty minutes. She didn't want to indulge the fact she wanted to try the illegal substance, she was more worried about the reaction her husband would have to their son's deception.  
  
She waited for her husband's arrival perched at the edge of the sofa, her leg jiggling away the nerves she felt.  
  
The sound of the door caused her ears to prickle, knowing Patrick would walk in, drop his bag in the foyer and hang his over coat before stepping fully into their abode.  
  
His eyes caught her sight of her form and he approached her side, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Hello, my love," he greeted, noticing her tense form. "Is everything alright?"  
  
"We need to talk," she choked out, striking a sense of fear into her husband. Was this about them? Or was there something else? He quickly made a mental note of everything he could have possibly done to warrant 'needing to talk' but there was nothing he could think of.  
  
Taking a seat next to her, he reached his hand out for his wife's, gripping it tightly as a show of support. She gave a quick squeeze back before she removed herself from his grasp and reached into the pocket of her apron.  
  
"I found this in our son's trousers while doing the washing," she practically blurted out, her nerves taking full force.  
  
She handed the packet to her husband and watched as he too, opened it and inhaled the scent. She watched has his eyes widened out of shock.  
  
"This is cannabis," he stated, his tone low and warning. She nodded her response. "Were they the ones he wore last night?"  
  
"They had to have been," she stated plainly. "I do the laundry daily,"  
  
"So our son has been going out to these rock and roll concerts," his words were dangerous. "And smoking pot with God knows who,"  
  
Shelagh felt suddenly disgusted at herself for even having the thought of trying the substance out of curiosity.  
"Patrick," she was going to try to reason with him that a teenager should experiment, but she dropped it quickly as a flash of anger flickered across his eyes.  
  
"Don't," he stopped her, rising from the sofa, taking the little bag in hand and tucking it away in his pocket. "I'll be discussing this with him later,"  
  
The way he had worded it made her feel like an inadequate parent, as if the last last six years of her marriage made her less Timothy's parent than he. She may not have been the one to carry him, or raise him throughout childhood, but in her eyes, she was as much his mother as Patrick was his father.  
  
She watched quietly as Patrick ascended the stairs to the second floor, her eyes stinging with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back.

* * *

  
  
Timothy wasn't home for dinner that night, calling from a phone box to tell his mother he was out studying with some of his school friends. When Shelagh had relayed this information on to her husband, she could see the distrust burn behind his eyes. She knew that he wanted to bite back with a remark about how he doubted Timothy was studying, and that he was probably smoking more pot with his 'friends'.  
  
Their dinner had been a quiet affair; Shelagh had attempted to make small talk with her daughters about their day at school, but there was an unsettling feeling that hung in the air, thick and keeping everyone on a knifes edge.  
  
With dinner complete, and the dishes washed, dried and returned to their usual locations, she had told her husband that she was going to get their youngest three bathed and tucked in to bed.  
  
Patrick took this opportunity to pull out old medical journals, wanting to inform himself about the side effects and harm the aromatic plant could have. He needed a fully loaded arsenal if he were to confront his son.  
  
Timothy was intelligent, although his most recent poor choice, would have been undoubtedly researched by him.  
  
Patrick remembered how Timothy had read and researched the effects of smoking cigarettes, causing his parents to both quit in an instant.  
  
As Patrick read up on cannabis, his eyes were opened to the properties of the plant. While it may be just as bad to inhale as tobacco smoke, it seemed safer than drinking. There was no way to overdose on the plant, and there were thoughts that there could be medical properties.

This didn't change the fact that Patrick was still disappointed in his son's decision. To take an illegal substance, much less bring it into the family home which he knew housed two highly respected medical professionals.  
  
The creak of the stairs pulled Patrick out of his thoughts, looking up to see his wife descending to the common areas. He noticed the lack of apron, knowing now that she was ready to settle in for the night.  
  
"Shelagh," he started, his tone light. He extended his arm for her to come to him, to take his hand and join him. She looked away from him, walking into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea instead. She didn't bother to offer to make him one, still feeling hurt from their exchange earlier.  
  
He rose from the sofa, trailing behind her into the kitchen. He made a move to put his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off.  
  
"Don't," she warned, in the same tone he had used with her earlier, her hands beginning to shake with the mix of emotions that flowed through her. She was adament that she wasn't going to face him, knowing how easily she could melt into his gaze.  
  
He let out a sigh, moving to stand next to her instead. He turned, leaning his back against the counter top, and letting his head fall, allowing a few minutes of silence to hang between them.  
  
"You made me feel inadequate," she told him finally, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
He knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'm so sorry, my love," he tried to apologise, his head now turned to her and his eyes searching her face.  
  
"I might not have given birth to him, but he's no more your son than he is mine." She poured her tea as she spoke, her hands shaking as she did. "If we confront him, we do it together. _We_ are his parents," she put emphasis on the we, so that he understood how it had hurt her.  
  
"I know," he hung his head in shame. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I know it's not a very good excuse,"  
  
She returned her shaky hands to the counter top, allowing her fingers to scratch across the suface; a nervous habit as she attempted to summon the courage to say what she wanted. She sighed out the last of her worries, taking a bold approach. "Have you considered what its like?"  
  
Patrick shook his head, not believing the words she spoke. He knew she had become more modern, and less conservative over their years of marriage, but he would have never considered her to be one to try something illegal.  
  
"Patrick?" She asked as he stayed silent for too long.  
  
Scrubbing a hand over his aged face, and running it through the loose hairs that began to fall around his brown, he let out a sigh. "I've been doing some reading," he admitted, looking to the pile of journals splayed across the coffee table in adjoining room. Her gaze followed his and she nodded.  
  
"The more I read about it, the less skeptical of it I become." He told her honestly. "There are two main compounds to the plant. Tetrahydrocannabinol which is the psychoactive compound, and cannabidiol which have some studies saying there may be medical properties,"  
  
She hummed along as she absorbed the information.  
  
"No reported fatalities from the drug, however, that doesn't mean to say that people in altered states of mind haven't done stupid things resulting in death," he continued. "To think this is possibly safer than the Distival I was prescribing only a few years ago,"  
  
At the mention of that horrible drug, Shelagh looked up at him, moving a hand to cover his. "You shouldn't keep blaming yourself for that," she told him.  
  
"There seems to me that there is less harm in this plant," he spat, pulling the bag out of his pocket and throwing it to the counter. "Than a drug that was given the okay by medical researchers,"  
  
Her eyes followed the bag as he threw it, that curiosity boiling uncontrollably inside her.  
  
"They smoke it," he offered. "Like a cigarette or with the use of a pipe,"  
  
"And the harm from smoking it?" She asked, wanting to compare it to an old habit she had nipped in the bud.  
  
"No different to the impacts of a cigarette," he looked at her, reading the expression on her face. "You're curious?"  
  
That was the question she was waiting for, and her pulling her hand off of his was all confirmation he needed. His eyes widened and she readied herself for the possible row that would follow. But it never came.  
  
"I can't help but admit I'm slightly curious myself," he said quietly, hoping the shame from his words paired with his sudden anger earlier, would not seem too offhanded.  
  
She searched his face for any kind of deception from him, wondering if this was a test, like the many her God had given her in all her years. She didn’t find a trace, only finding sincerity.  
"If you're certain?" She offered, her way of telling him that she would try it with him to quench their now mutual curiosity.  
  
"I'm certain," he confirmed.  
  


* * *

  
  
After their shared awkwardness about trying the drug, and figuring out the logistics of actually consuming it, they both sat on the paved backyard, leaning into each others embrace. Their silence heightened the experience, each feeling a calm euphoria.  
  
"Well," he offered, inhaling a puff on the second cannabis cigarette they shared.  
  
She accepted the item, brining it to her lips. She giggled; he was lost for words and she understood completely. "Quite,"  
  
He let out his own small chuckle, the tone sending vibrations through himself and his wife. He nuzzled his cheek into her head, dropping a quick kiss to her hair before turning his gaze back to the clear, night sky above.  
  
She felt content here. In his arms, and a forbidden moment shared between them. Smiling to herself, she too looked to the vast sky, her eyes skating across the different constellations.  
  
"I love you," she whispered, allowing her now lidded eyes to close and handing back the cigarette for him to take the last drag.  
  
Accepting the offer, he finished with a few short, quick puffs and exhaled, stubbing the remnants on the cement paver beneath him. "I love you, too." Was his reply.  
  
She had never felt more in love, in this moment, than she had when she had received his kiss on her palm all those years ago in the Parish Hall kitchen.  
  
Their entire being was built of forbidden moments.  
  
The pair's euphoria was shattered as they head the door behind them slide open. The earthy scent of the herb lingering in the still night air.  
  
"Mum? Dad?" The questioning voice of their oldest child sounding behind them.  
  
  
**\- end**


	2. Smoke Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little follow up to the first.

Timothy had made the mistake of leaving a cap in his pocket, and had brought iit home, again. He hadn't been scolded by his parents over the illegal substance; he assumed this was due to the shameful reaction he had been greeted with when he had come home one evening combined with the understanding that they were now as much in the wrong as he was.

This evening, however, Timothy and his parents were sat in the living room, the television sat in the corner broadcasting an evening show. 

As the television programme came to an end, Patrick had pulled himself away from his wife on the couch to get up and switch the set off. He took his place back at her side, turning to his eldest child. 

"Why do I have a feeling that we are going to discuss what happened last week?" The teenager questioned his parents.

"Because it is necessary to address," Patrick told him, his tone monotonous.

Timothy's protruding Adams apple making the vertical movement as he attempted to swallow his nerves. The boy wanted to go on the defensive, throw the fact that his parents had indulged themselves in the plant, but he used his better judgement and stayed quiet.

"We are concerned," his mother's accented voice took over. "You've grown into quite the young man," she grasped her husband's hand for support. "And with university just around the corner for you, we don't want to see your opportunities diminished." Patrick nodded along with Shelagh's words.

Timothy's was slightly taken aback. He had expected to receive a lecture from his father about the rock and roll concerts he had been attending; about the drug Patrick had come to realise had been picked up at one of the events.

"It wouldn't be right for us to lecture you, Tim," his father continued. "You caught us red handed,"

Timothy laughed at his father's words. "So what I'm getting from this is that, you don't care that I've been taking pot, you care that it may impact my future,"

Shelagh went to counter their son, but held her tongue as Patrick continued. "I've done some research into the drug, and it seems no more harmful than cigarettes. The same cigarettes you wanted your mother and I to stop smoking," his voice was firm. Timothy lost the grin that had been on his face, looking down awkwardly at his feet. "What if your siblings had found it,"

"But they didn't," the boy muttered, but his parents still heard him.

"That's not the point, Tim. I don’t want any illegal substances coming into the house," Patrick was still firm. "I'm going to turn a blind eye to what you do outside of home, you're at that age where you are old enough to make choices for yourself, and if you are caught, you can deal with the consequences yourself,"

Shelagh, who had quietly been watching the exchange between father and son finally saw and opening to voice herself. "I suggest if you have any with you now, you hand it over and we forget this ever happened."

Timothy raised his brow at his mother, wondering if she had her own motives for wanting him to hand over the plant. He used his better judgement to stay quiet; he had dodged a bullet and he wanted it to stay that way. 

He moved quickly to race to his room, rummaging through his dresser to find the cap he had stashed in his sock drawer.

While Timothy was searching for his hidden stash of pot, Patrick turned to his wife, an eyebrow cocked in her direction. "And, Mrs Turner, do you intend to do with the confiscated pot?" A blush coloured her pale cheeks and she purposefully averted her gaze. He chuckled. "Oh you sly woman, you,"

She shrugged her shoulders, the blush leaving her face. "I'm sure I don’t know what you're talking about,"

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs drew Patrick and Shelagh's gazes, watching as the eldest Turner child gave up the cap of pot into his father's now outstretched hand.

"I'd suggest if you have any homework, now is the time to do it," Patrick had a hard time keeping a stern tone as he knew his wife's motive for the confiscation. "If not, off to bed with you,"

Timothy nodded his reply, taking his leave.

* * *

With the Turner children all tucked away in bed, it left Shelagh and Patrick to address the elephant in the room.

"It's not addiction if its only twice," Shelagh announced. They had moved from the living room and into the kitchen where she had busied herself making a pot of tea for them.

Patrick, leaning his backside against the counter top, let out a chuckle as his eyes watched his wife's practiced movements. "I feel hypocritical," he told her. "We tell Tim he can't bring it into our home, and then you confiscate it for personal use,"

As the tea steeped, she looked to Patrick, batting her eyes innocently. "Well, it would be a shame for it to go to waste," 

"Based on principle, we should dispose of it. Somewhere that small hands, or in Tim's case, larger hands can't find it again,"

"Precisely why I confiscated it," Shelagh seems proud of the power move she had made against the teenager. "I enjoyed it last time, what's the harm of a little indulgence?"

"Because we told him that it wasn't to come into our house; ergo it shouldn't be consumed either," Patrick was rubbing his thumb and index finger together, something Shelagh had come to recognise as a nervous habit.

Moving to stand in front of her husband, she placed her hands low on his hips, pushing herself against him teasingly. "I feel  _ naughty _ ," she had whispered in his ear, pushed up on her toes to attempt to match his height.

Patrick let out a breathy laugh through his nose, his hands settling a little above Shelagh's waist, his thumbs dangerously close to her breasts. "You’re certainly acting it," he chided, although his tone was teasing. 

Shelgah placed a kiss to his lips, wanting to feel his need to return it, before pulling away with a wink and bringing her attention back to the tea she had made for them.

"Come," she told him upon pouring the beverages. "By the time we've had these, we should be safe to head outside. The children should be asleep," she checked her timing by glancing at the clock on the wall.

The pair took themselves, armed with their cups of tea, out the sliding glass door to their enclosed backyard. It could hardly be considered a yard as the entire surface was covered in cement pavers. Pulling up a seat at the small wrought iron table, the pair sat in silence as they consumed their beverages.

It was another quiet night in the suburb, the only sounds being the chirping of crickets, tucked away in the garden. Each of them felt at ease in each others presence.

With their tea consumed, Patrick darted inside to find the old rolling papers he had tucked away. Shelagh took the empty cups, giving them a quick rinse in the sink before fetching a pair of kitchen scissors and a small bowl. They met at the doorway to the yard, a smile passed between them as they knew they were about to indulge themselves.

"Good thing we know what we are doing this time," he joked followed by a little chuckle.

She followed him out, quickly remembering something. "Wait," she darted back inside, grabbing a throw blanket. 

"Smart thinking, Mrs Turner," he grinned at her as she returned and spread the blanket across the papers.

Each taking a seat on the ground, Shelagh let Patrick do the honours of cutting the herb, allowing the aroma to fill the space between them. With expert fingers, Patrick sprinkled enough pot in the paper, rolling it before licking the edge of the paper and sealing it.

Shelagh watched his movements, impressed with his speed at rolling the joint, and letting her mind wander as she eyed his tongue.

He offered her the joint, handing it over with his zippo. "Ladies first," he declared, watching his wife light and inhale the first puff.

With little experience in smoking pot, she inhaled a little too deeply, causing a burning sensation to build in her lungs before she coughed. Passing the illicit cigarette to Patrick, she watched as he took a drag, holding it in his lungs before exhaling. 

He smirked, cooking his eyebrow at her. "Have I ever shown you my trick?"

She watched him curiously. "Trick?"

Taking another drag, he inhaled the majority of the aromatic smoke, leaving a little to rest in his mouth. She watched as he made an 'o' with his lips, quickly puffing out two perfect smoke rings in succession.

"My father taught me," he offered as he noticed the question form on his wife's lips. "You don't completely inhale, or the smoke is too thin to form rings,"

She hummed as she contemplated attempting her own smoke rings, but decided against it. If she weren't to completely inhale, didn't that make smoking the joint pointless? 

The pair silently exchanged the joint between them, enjoying the nighttime ambiance as their high began slowly began to manifest.

It started as a smile on Shelagh's face, a smile that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't rid herself of. For Patrick, his eyes became heavy and lidded, and with a glance at his wife, he chuckled.

"What?" She asked, feeling his eyes boring holes into her.

"Nothing," he grinned sheepishly at her, preparing more of the chopped plant to roll another. "We have to rid ourselves of the evidence,"

Shelagh lay back on the blanket covered ground, watching the stars above her and losing herself in her own world. She thought about the journey she had taken to reach this point in her life.

The sound of Patrick sparking the zippo pulled her out of her thoughts and she glanced at him, his face becoming illuminated from the glow of the burning joint.

"I used to be a nun," she stated.

Patrick looked at her, not knowing how to respond to her blunt verbalisation. "Yes,"

Shelagh reclaimed her seated position, sitting herself so that she was pushed against her husband, and accepted the offerance he held out to her. Bringing it to her lips she inhaled deeply, her lungs becoming accustomed to the harsher burn of the pot.

" _ Damn _ . I used to be a  _ nun _ ," she chuckled at the thought. "I feel like I've forgotten that part of me,"

"It'll always be a part of you, my love,"

"Yet, look at me now. I've been out of the religious life for -" she stopped suddenly, her mind firing on all cylinders. "Wait, what was I saying?" 

Patrick laughed at his wife, knowing from his research that short term memory can be affected upon consumption of marijuana. "Something about the religious life," he offered in an attempt to help jog her memory.

She laughed, and found herself unable to stop. Tears formed in her eyes and her abdominal muscles started to burn from the laughter. A few moments had passed before she regained some composure. "I still don't know what I was talking about," This set her laughter off again and she fell further against her husband's side as he too began to chuckle uncontrollably.

They both fell back, their backs colliding with the solid ground beneath them, as the full euphoria of their high set in. Shelagh curled up against Patrick, her arm wrapping tightly around his waist and her head leaned on his shoulder.

"Patrick?" 

"Shelagh?"

"Have I told you that I love you?" Her head moved uncomfortably on his shoulder so she could look at his face.

He angled his own head down to look at her, a grin spread on his features. "You might have mentioned it once or twice,"

She playfully slapped his chest and instead of returning her arm to his waist, she kept it pressed on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath under her hand.

She wanted to have new experiences with him, and so used her fingers to open the first few buttons of his Oxford. The pads of her fingers sought the warmth of his chest, sliding them under the now open shirt.

She placed a kiss to his jaw, his evening stubble scratching at her soft lips. Placing a few more kisses to his jaw, she playfully nipped at a new spot on his neck, eliciting a groan from him.

"Don't start what you can't stop," he warned, turning to capture her lips with his own.

She hummed approval into his lips, breaking their seal as her smile grew again. "I did tell you I was feeling naughty,"

With the scandalous nature of their night combined with Shelagh's confession, Patrick couldn't control himself, rolling her so that he was looming above her, their bodies close, but not quite touching. 

Shelagh giggled beneath him, with each laugh her chest brushing against his. She stopped her giggle suddenly, her eyes widening and her mouth forming an 'o'.

Patrick watched her face change, he noticed the reddening in her eyes, amplifying the piercing blue of her irises. He thought he had done something wrong. "Is everything alright, my love?"

She pushed him off, sitting up quickly. "I remembered what I was going to say earlier!" Patrick cocked his eyebrow at her, encouraging her to continue. "I had been talking about the religious life, and how I feel like I've forgotten that part of me. What I had forgotten to say, was I've been out of the religious life for nearly as long as I was part of it."

"Do you regret it?" His tone was sombre.

She shook her head. "No," she answered honestly. "I don't regret any of the choices I've made. If I hadn't made the choices I did, I wouldn't be here with you now,"

Patrick smiled at her. His own thoughts interrupted the mood that had befallen the couple. "Is it just me, or does smoking pot make you hungry?"

Shelagh let out a loud laugh, to which Patrick tried to shush her. "Shall we go raid the kitchen?" She suggested, a grin on her face.

"I take that as it's not just me, then,"

Retrieving the evidence from their night in the yard, the pair headed inside to see what their stoned selves could find to munch on.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided that I would get high to write this follow up lmao.  
> So if there are any errors, blame my stoned ass. Its taken so long to write 😅

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you for sticking out the fic!  
> If you follow my tumblr, you will see that I'm not shy about my own use of weed. I much prefer a cheeky sesh over drinking.  
> I wanted to write this in a way where their was still a sense of forbiddeness, curiosity and (almost) a test for Shelagh - kinda like when she started falling for Patrick.  
> I should have done more research into weed back in the 60's. But I didn’t- so hate me 😅
> 
> I'd love some feedback on this, though! Although as per my first note, I'm not here for debates.


End file.
